


Stiles Stilinski and the Fine Art of Competitive Costumery

by PsychicPineapple



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Fluff, Halloween Costumes, Late Night Writing, M/M, Nobody is a werewolf, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 11:14:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3567572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychicPineapple/pseuds/PsychicPineapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the tumblr prompt:<br/><b>“you’re going to be at the halloween party and you’ve won best costume for the past three years but this year I am wearing the best costume ever if you defeat me I will eat my - wait you actually look really cute when did you turn hot what the fuck um”</b></p><p>Wherein Stiles FINALLY has his chance to win the costume competition. Or so he thinks.<br/>_______</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Scott laid a hand on his shoulder, pulling him away from the wall. ‘Stiles, come on. You’re overreacting.’ </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>‘Am I?’ Stiles moaned, ‘or is this actually the worst thing to happen ever in the world?’</i><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiles Stilinski and the Fine Art of Competitive Costumery

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and thanks for dropping by! I wrote this from 2-4am, it is not beta'd, it was just a prompt that caught my eye. I'm too tired to tell if it's actually good or not. If you think it is, please leave a comment and some kudos!

So let’s get one thing straight – Stiles was not a cool kid. He was a funny kid, a gangly kid, a sarcastic, snide, sometimes snot-nosed kid. He was, basically, a good kid. But he was not a _cool_ kid. It was no surprise, then, that he didn’t get invited to the cool kid parties. The parties thrown by kids whose parent’s _didn’t_ work in the Sheriff’s office, and were okay with buying them a six pack now and again. Nor was he invited to the my-parents-are-out-of-town style ragers, or the keggers thrown by college-aged kids. In fact, there was only one party a year that Stiles was guaranteed to attend – Lydia Martin’s Halloween party.

 

Every year since Stiles was twelve, the Martins threw Beacon Hills’ most over-the-top Halloween party. From the first week of October, the entire house would be festooned with creepy decorations, inside and out, even spilling into the garden. There was a different theme each year; night of the living dead, witches gathering, masquerade – and Mr. and Mrs. Martin would wear creepy but cutesy matching costumes that made everyone smile even as they were pretending to gag. The best part was that _everyone_ from Lydia’s grade got an invitation.

 

The second best part? The costume contest.

 

*

 

The front door swung open and Scott’s jaw dropped. ‘Dude,’ he gasped in reverence, ‘you look awesome.’

 

‘Right?’ Stiles nodded, grinning as he gestured down at his costume. ‘I mean – _right_?’

 

Scott pushed past him into the hall, bunching his red cape up in his fist to stop it from snagging as he walked. ‘I mean, when you said ‘the Joker’ I was thinking you’d look kind of goofy but,’ he turned to look at Stiles again, ‘ _wow_.’

 

Stiles preened under the praise. He’d put a lot of effort into the costume, after all. He’d been planning, buying, dyeing and sewing for almost a full year and he was damn proud of the result.

 

Stiles was wearing a well-fitted suit in a deep shade of eggplant purple. He paired it with a green waistcoat that cinched in flatteringly at his narrow waist. Beneath the waistcoat was a slate gray shirt with a truly ugly pattern, and a black and gold paisley tie. Everything clashed in the most delightfully discordant way. But just a fancy suit wasn’t enough to score ‘Best Cosume’ at the Halloween party, and so Stiles had spent hours watching YouTube tutorials, reading makeup reviews and practicing with DIY special effects until he got the look just right.

 

His face was smeared with greasy, white body paint, messy but deliberate. He’d ordered something called ‘rigid collodion’ online and used it to created deep, scar-like ridges extending from the creases of his lips and up his cheeks. Over that he’d spread a messy layer of red paint in the shape of a ghastly smile. He smudged black body paint and khol around his eyes until they were sunken pits out of which his eyes sparked like embers. He’d worked hard and he looked _awesome_.

 

‘That best costume award is mine!’ He crowed, clenching his fist victoriously. ‘Finally!’

 

‘Yeah,’ Scott nodded agreeably, ‘Derek definitely won’t be able to top that!’

 

Stiles faltered mid fist-pump. ‘Well, yeah. Because he’s in New York. Right?’ He pressed when Scott avoided his eyes. ‘Scott? Derek Hale, three time consecutive winner of the Halloween costume competition, went to New York at the beginning of the summer with no sign of returning and thus could not _possibly_ be coming to this party. Right, Scott?’ His voice was getting louder and slightly hysterical. ‘Because if that was a thing that was happening – if my arch nemesis of costumery, who has robbed me of my victory time and time again was back in town – that’s a thing my best friend would tell me about, _right Scott?_ ’

 

‘I only found out ten minutes ago!’ Scott blurted, cringing. Stiles sighed explosively and thudded his head against the wall, leaving a smear of white paint. ‘Lydia mentioned it to Allison and Allison mentioned it to me. I came right over!’ 

 

‘No,’ Stiles was groaning against the wall, ‘this was supposed to be my year, man! We’re seniors, this is probably the last invitation I’ll ever get to one of Lydia’s parties. I’ve been busting my ass over this and now Hale is going to swoop in with some amazing costume. You know what they have in New York, Scott? Broadway. Costume designers. Makeup artists. He’s gonna blow me out of the water.’

 

Scott laid a hand on his shoulder, pulling him away from the wall. ‘Stiles, come on. You’re overreacting.’

 

‘Am I?’ Stiles moaned, ‘or is this actually the worst thing to happen ever in the world?’

 

‘Listen,’ Scott spun Stiles around, shaking him gently until he met his eyes. ‘You know what Allison told me? Lydia said he flew in last night on the red eye; it was some last-minute thing. He probably won’t have time to come up with a costume, and even if he did there’s no way it could be as awesome as yours. So why don’t we go to the party, drink some spiked punch, and when he shows up in his crappy, last-minute costume we can laugh at him behind his back. Okay?’

 

Stiles stared back for a long moment, considering. Then he sighed, and gave Scott a hesitant smile. ‘Yeah, okay. Thanks man. You’re probably right.’

 

‘I’m definitely right,’ Scott smiled, punching Stiles gently in the arm. ‘By the way, you never said what you thought of my costume!’ He stood back and put his hands to his hips, letting the cape drop the floor. Stiles took in the blue leggings and shirt, the red boots, pants and cape, and laughed.

 

‘I like it. Very…you.’ He grabbed his keys and pulled open the door, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Let’s go, Superman.’

 

*

 

‘Do you see him yet?’ Stiles asked Scott, straining to peer above the crowd. Visibility wasn’t exactly great; the room was lit by a combination of blacklight bulbs and party lights, and wisps of fake spider webs hung from every surface.

 

‘Nope,’ Scott was scanning the party in the opposite direction. ‘He’s probably too scared to show his face. Do you see _her_ yet?’

 

‘Nope – wait,’ he squinted across the room. ‘Maybe. Did you tell Allison what your costume was?’

 

‘No,’ Scott frowned over his shoulder, ‘why?’

 

‘Wow,’ Stiles shook his head in disbelief. ‘Wonder Woman, twelve o’clock.’

 

Scott turned around so fast that Stiles was surprised he didn’t get whiplash. ‘It’s her!’ Allison was in a tight red bodice, a star spangled mini-skirt, and boots and a cape to match Scott’s. It was so cute Stiles wanted to puke.

 

‘Go say hi,’ he nudged Scott encouragingly. ‘I’m gonna get some punch.’

 

‘You sure?’ Scott asked, but his eyes hadn’t moved from Allison.

 

‘Yeah dude, go for it. We’ll meet back up for the winner’s announcement though, right?’

 

‘Definitely!’ Scott called over his shoulder, and then he was gone. Stiles wove his way through the crowd to the punchbowl, and then perched himself a little ways up the staircase so he could keep an eye on the front door. Maybe Derek would show, maybe he wouldn’t, but Stiles would _not_ be caught off guard.

 

‘Hey.’

 

‘Augh!’ Stiles yelped, leaping almost a foot in the air at the sound of a voice behind him.

 

‘Sorry,’ the guy said as Stiles clutched at his heart, ‘I just need to get past.’

 

‘It’s fine,’ Stiles gasped, turning to look up. ‘You just – caught me off guard.’ _You have got to be kidding me_ , he thought. Standing on the steps and staring down at him with an amused little smirk, was Derek Hale. ‘Upstairs is off limits,’ Stiles blurted. ‘There’s a sign.’

 

‘I know,’ Derek shrugged, ‘but Lydia let me get ready up there. I kind of put my costume together last minute.’

 

And _there_ were the magic words Stiles had been longing to hear. ‘Oh yeah?’ Stiles scoffed, ‘and what are you? Guy In Leather Jacket? Fifties greaser?’

 

‘Oh,’ Derek looked down at himself as though he had forgotten he was even wearing it. ‘Guess I better lose the jacket.’ He peeled it off and Stiles’ mouth went dry.

 

Derek had changed a little while he was in New York. Most notably, Derek had gotten _buff_. His arms were corded with muscle, his chest and shoulders broad and unyielding, his stomach ridged with abs. Stiles could tell because without the jacket, all Derek was wearing was an obscenely taut white wife-beater and a pair of well fitting jeans. There was an oddly shaped bump in the centre of his chest, and Derek fiddled with something at his belt for a moment until it lit up; a circle emitting a white-blue light through the thin fabric.

 

‘Do you get it?’ Stiles could hear Derek saying distantly. ‘I’m Tony Stark. I wasn’t sure if people would get it but Lydia said-‘

 

‘Oh come on!’ Stiles cut Derek off with a outraged cry. ‘You can’t be serious with this! Your costume is literally a tank and a flashlight and you _still_ look like you walked off a movie set?’

 

Derek was frozen, staring down at Stiles with alarm. ‘Uh, thanks? Your – your costume looks good too.’

 

‘My costume looks _great_ ,’ Stiles seethed, affronted. He climbed to his feet and spread his arms. ‘My costume looks _incredible_ , and it should win the costume contest, but it won’t, you know why? Because you went to New York with Broadway, and costumery, and got ridiculously, stupidly hot! How is that fair?’ He snapped his mouth shut, but the words hung in the air between them. Derek was staring at him, his lips pressed together tightly and his eyebrows raised. ‘It occurs to me,’ Stiles continued after a long, awkward moment, ‘that this year’s punch is considerably stronger than last year’s, and I may have said too much. I am going to go now.’

 

He was almost at the bottom of the stairs when Derek called out. ‘Stiles!’ Stiles turned slowly. ‘It’s Stiles, right? I remember you. You were – last year you were Batman.’

 

‘Yeah,’ Stiles mumbled, ‘and you were _better_ Batman.’ That one had stung.

 

Derek was walking down the stairs, slowly advancing on him. ‘And the year before you were a zombie.’

 

‘And you were Frankenstein.’

 

‘And the year before that you were – some guy with a beard? And a backpack?’

 

‘I was [Dumbledora the Explorer](http://s3-ec.buzzfed.com/static/2013-10/enhanced/webdr05/18/10/enhanced-buzz-31669-1382107309-12.jpg) and that costume was visionary. But you were Robin Hood and you had that huge bow and you were wearing _tights_ ,’ he said bitterly.

 

Derek was one step above him now, staring at him with an assessing gaze. ‘You’ve grown taller since last year.’

 

‘Well, yeah,’ Stiles fidgeted under Derek’s scrutiny.

 

‘Filled out a little, too,’ Derek’s eyes dragged across the width of his shoulders, down his chest to his waist. Was Stiles imagining things or was Derek’s look at little less assessing and a little more…appreciative? ‘Your costume really does look great.’ His eyes flicked back up to Stiles’ and they were a little darker, a little more dangerous.

 

Seriously, Stiles thought, what the _hell_ was in that punch?

 

‘Are you here with anyone?’ Derek asked, and Stiles shook his head slowly.

 

‘Not unless you count the Superman making out with Wonder Woman over there.’ He nodded absently towards the back wall.

 

‘How about I get us some punch,’ Derek suggested, brushing past Stiles to step off the stairs, ‘and we find somewhere quiet to talk about – costumery.’

 

‘I – yeah. Yes. Let’s – do that. Okay.’ Stiles was still blinking up the empty stairway when Derek snaked a hand around his wrist and tugged him into the crowd.

 

*  
  


Later, when Mrs. Martin announced Stiles as the winner of the costume competition, he was, strangely, nowhere to be found.

 

But, thanks to Derek, his costume was rather in disarray by that point, anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it, thanks again for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated. I'm off to get some sweet, sweet sleep.
> 
> You can find my blog at scottmotherfuckinmccall.tumblr.com


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